


Introductions

by Rinari7



Category: Guild Wars
Genre: Assassin - Freeform, Gen, charr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6776389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Charr female was many different things to many different people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Introductions

To most she met in Charr lands, she introduced herself as Valana Zephyrscriber, a pencil-pusher. “You know, this and that in the HQ. Paperwork makes the Legions run and all,” said with a self-deprecating smile.

 

The diehard front-line brutes and adrenaline junkies snorted, eyeing her like a piece of meat. “I'd be bored to death.”  
The inventors and tinkerers and blacksmiths and cooks and farmers and loggers and miners all shook their heads, giving her looks of pity. “I'd rather be doing something useful.”  
To them, she always said the same thing: “Good thing you don't have my job, then.”  
  
The spies and saboteurs smirked. “I'm sure you hear a lot of interesting things.”  
The higher-ups, the leaders and strategists, slapped her on the back with a grin. “Well, someone's got to do it. Good job for stepping up.”  
To them, she always said the same thing: “I do enjoy my job.”

 

To those she met outside of Charr lands, she introduced herself as Nerasi Sharpclaw, a freelance mercenary. “Legion-trained, vigilant, but on my own now.”

“Oh,” was the most common response as they wandered off with their drinks to another part of the bar. “Can I see what you can do? I might have a job in mind for you, if you're up to my standards,” was the other response. To them, she asked what sort of job it might be, and when, and found some reason to decline: “I've already got a job scheduled for part of that week, sorry,” said with a wry, regretful smile.

 

To those her occupation actually concerned, she never introduced herself at all. At most, she left a calling card after the fact: “The Reaper was here,” in plain black ink poured in a thin stream on their muzzle or tail (whichever was more intact), and an anonymous, barely legible note to the relevant local authorities informing them as to where they would find the body.  
  
Her warbandmates, in disguise, would then circulate the news, quietly: “Hey, did you hear? That scum who deserted their warband in the Brand last week was found dead the other day.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, they say he was--” a pause interjected to lower their voice, lean in, eyes darting around before focusing on the other again “--reaped.”

“No!” The other would recoil, their lips curled in a grimace, their eye wide with disbelief, horror even. “Yes, I know a guy in the Adamant Guard who said the Reaper left their calling card.”

“Ink? Gimme a break. Anyone can do that.” And her warbandmates would smirk as they watched the other relax a little, their shoulders drop, their eyes narrow.

“Not just that. Clean kill, no blood but their own—no scent even, besides some pungent mix of mint and lemon and eucalyptus.”

And the shock, the fear would return, though some would try not to show it. “Burn me,” the other murmured, “It does sound like he was reaped.” Usually the conversation would cease at that, her warbandmate wandering off, leaving the other to down the rest of their drink with a disturbed look on their face.

 

A Reaping—the very mention of it struck fear into the hearts of many Legion soldiers, and rightly so. The rumors swirled around the mysterious figure, the right hand of Ash Legions' Internal Affairs, felling deserters, infiltrators, and rogues with swift, silent justice. Never seen, never heard, rarely mentioned. Sometimes a death seemed like an accident, only for the ink to appear at the scene later, after a Flame amulet had been found on the deceased, or a letter to the Order of Whispers divulging Legion secrets. Sometimes it was obvious from the beginning—the body a gruesome sight, tortured and burned, or simply with a thin red slit across their throat.  
  
To none did Zyravia Loyalreaper introduce herself with her actual name. But that suited her just fine.


End file.
